


I'm Yours to Claim

by Llama1412



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Come Eating, Come Marking, Episode Related, Episode: s01e04 Of Banquets Bastards and Burials, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, Facials, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Semi-Public Sex, Sharing Clothes, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:22:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25173823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Geralt knew he would eventually agree to go to Cintra. It was Jaskier asking, after all. He hadn't expected to run into his old friend and fuckbuddy, Mousesack, but it was nice to see him again.
Relationships: Ermion | Mousesack/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Ermion | Mousesack/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 13
Kudos: 124





	I'm Yours to Claim

**Author's Note:**

  * For [witchertrashbag (intothegarbagechute)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/intothegarbagechute/gifts).



> Happy birthday @witchertrashbag!!

In honesty, Geralt always agreed to Jaskier’s absurd ideas. He’d give Jaskier a hard time about it, but even when he didn’t initially want to give in, he knew he would. It wasn’t that Geralt was a pushover – many cheapskates could attest to the fact that he was a demanding negotiator when it came to his pay – but Geralt didn’t honestly care that much what his plans looked like. What did it matter whether he rode towards Blackbough or Rivia? His choice was usually based on Roach’s mood as much as rumors of work from gossip on the road. So detouring to Cintra? Not a big deal. There would likely be work there too. 

He still groused and grumbled, because it was expected of him, but also because it made him feel better to make Jaskier work for it. And it made Jaskier happy to ramble on and on about all the ways Geralt owed him and all the ways it would be a treat to witness his illustrious performance amongst the finest things available in life. Or, as Jaskier put it in less flowery terms, “food, women, and wine”. If Geralt hadn’t already known he would agree, the promise of good food and good booze would have sold him. 

And it was possible he was influenced by the tender look in Jaskier’s eyes as he murmured, “and yet, here we are”, entirely confident in the fact that Geralt would be accompanying him. Geralt had to look away, desperately searching for a distraction.

He wasn’t entirely certain how that led to Jaskier dressing him, fingers sneaking teasing brushes against bare skin. It was far from the first time, though Geralt preferred the undressing over the dressing. He didn’t actually need help to don his armor – he’d specially ordered all his armor to be light enough and with ties in places he could tighten himself – but Jaskier’s light touches and steadfast attention to the things that kept Geralt alive, it made Geralt feel...cared for. Special. Like someone worthy of attention and time and tender touches.

Usually. But these clothes had clearly not been designed with his wide shoulders in mind, and all the tailoring in the world couldn’t fix that. 

He couldn’t understand why Jaskier got all upset when Geralt complained about them, but that bitter salt tang that meant he was truly hurt wafted up to Geralt’s nose. His brow knit, trying to figure out why a basic fact about his clothing meant so much to Jaskier.

His fingers absently traced the embroidery along the body of the uncomfortable doublet as he thought. Why would Jaskier care if Geralt didn’t like this  _ specific _ outfit? He frowned down at his boots and slowly, his eyes realized that the pattern his fingers were tracing wasn’t random, In fact, it looked an awful lot like a flower.

Geralt’s eyes flicked to Jaskier, and the corners of his mouth tilted up. “Jaskier,” he drawled, prowling forward to crowd Jaskier against the wardrobe. “Am I wearing Buttercups right now?”  _ Is this your way of marking me, _ he couldn’t ask.

Jaskier gulped audibly, and his breathing had quickened the moment Geralt moved. “Um. Yes?” His voice came out as a squeak, even though Geralt was sure that he’d been trying to sounds smooth. “I mean, it’s not like – a mark of ownership or something. I’m not – I know we’re not exclusive. I’m not asking to change that. This works better for me, too. But I mean, I just –” 

“I like it,” Geralt rumbled and Jaskier’s babbling cut off. “I like having something of yours. I like that you care enough to claim me.” He drew closer with every word until there was hardly a whisper of space between them.

“Oh.” Jaskier blinked rapidly. “Really?”

“Hmm,” Geralt purred and watched Jaskier’s eyes flutter in response, his head automatically tilting to invite Geralt’s mouth on his throat. Geralt licked his lips and leaned forward a hair. It was a tease that he fully intended to follow up on, but when he raised his arm to box Jaskier in, he was abruptly reminded of how terribly his clothes fit. He pulled back to ask plaintively, “does it have to be this, though? My shoulders feel like they’re being squeezed.”

Jaskier snorted and the moment was officially ruined, but that was okay, because Jaskier was laughing, and Geralt loved nothing more than drawing that lilting sound from his bard.

When his giggles faded, Jaskier looked up at him with an apologetic look. “I don’t actually have anything else that would fit better, I’m afraid. Can you stand one night in it?”

Geralt rolled his shoulders testingly. “If I have to fight, it’s going to rip.”

Jaskier shrugged. “I tried to get it expanded for your ridiculously broad shoulders, so it won’t fit me now. Besides,” he cleared his throat, “I had the tailor order a whole bolt of the fabric.”

Geralt’s eyebrow cocked and he pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. One of the things that drew him most to Jaskier was his sheer confidence in placing himself at Geralt’s side and immediately insisting that be belonged there.

He did, but no one had ever done that before. Oh, he had friends and companions across the continent. He had certainly traveled with people before. But it was always a matter of convenience – they’d be headed in the same direction or have a shared objective. Jaskier, though? For three seasons of the year, they traveled together for no other reason than because Jaskier wanted to accompany him. He had other offers – each winter, he waited out the snows with various lovers and patrons – but he still chose Geralt.

It made Geralt weak in the knees. Which Jaskier could never,  _ ever _ know. He would be absolutely insufferable.

Geralt had no particular interest in this banquet. He was more or less expecting to spend the evening bored and possibly fighting off conversation advances from noblemen. Protecting Jaskier from some attempt on his life would probably be the high point of the evening.

So he was caught completely off guard to hear Mousesack shouting his name just as Jaskier mumbled something about no one finding out who he was.

Well, that was shot. But Geralt hadn’t expected he’d get to see his old friend and he wasn’t complaining. Mousesack was a sight for sore eyes, quite honestly. It had been about a decade since they’d last seen each other and Geralt had missed him.

Not that he would  _ ever _ admit to that. But the amused spark in Mousesack’s eye said his old friend could read him as easily as ever and already knew. The druid had known him for years and years and if anyone could read him better than Jaskier, it was probably Mousesack. 

When Mousesack guided him aside, Geralt kept half an eye on Jaskier – he was supposed to be guarding the bard, after all – and he looked his friend over with rest of his attention. Mousesack had been tired and wan after the plague, having dedicated all of his time and energy to healing what victims he could. His face had been sunken in and his hair had born streaks of grey from having used the magic that kept him young to try to extend others’ lives.

But now – now, Mousesack looked absolutely wonderful, dressed in fine silks with his hair back to being healthy brown and his beard neatly trimmed. Geralt let Mousesack’s warm voice wash over him. The druid had always had a strange talent for making the nonsense of court politics actually sound interesting, and he appreciated it. Others also clearly respected Mousesack and no one approached to bother them, for which Geralt was even more grateful. He really hated polite talk.

When Geralt broke off to rescue Jaskier from another angry husband, he knew the baffled expression on Mousesack’s face meant he was going to get asked  _ questions _ about Jaskier. And Jaskier may always be trying to convince Geralt that communication was important, but that didn’t mean he had to want it or like it. 

The Queen’s arrival meant that he was easily able to duck off to the side of the hall. Hopefully Mousesack would be occupied with his duties to the Skelligen crown and unable to hunt Geralt down for an explanation.

It wasn’t that he thought Mousesack would disapprove of Jaskier. The opposite, actually. Together, the two of them knew  _ far _ too many embarrassing secrets that Geralt would really rather everyone just forget. But they wouldn’t. Both took far too much amusement in teasing Geralt and making him squirm.

Why was he always attracted to people who liked to make fun of him and push him around?

He was reminded exactly why when Queen Calanthe fixated on him and called him forward to dine next to her. The attention of the entire room watching him was heady, the Queen’s heated gaze most of all. The once over she gave him was surprisingly blatant and her flirting was sharp and clever in a way that hit all of Geralt’s buttons.

It was quite a shame the rogue knight interrupted things. For more reasons than one, as it turned out, but Geralt didn’t regret protecting the man.

The Law of Surprise, though…

He’d called on it instinctively, as any witcher was taught to when people couldn’t make payment. He hadn’t actually thought he’d end up with a damned  _ child! _

When Geralt stormed out of the Cintran banquet, he’d known that someone would chase after him, if for no other reason than to try to talk him into staying. 

And fuck it all, he probably would, but for now, he could be angry about Destiny pulling this kind of bullshit on him! Whether Mousesack or Jaskier found him first, Geralt knew he would snap angry words at them that he didn’t mean. He didn’t want that.

So he strode deeper into the castle, taking turns at random, and he channeled his energy into the slap of his boots against the hard stone. His thoughts were consumed with berating himself. The signs were there, if he had looked. The princess had clearly implied she’d spent the night with her lover, and  _ of course _ life was just enough of a bitch to make her nauseous right after Geralt had called the Law of Surprise. 

The problem was, he’d done exactly what he was supposed to. The whole reason witchers were taught to ask for the Law of Surprise was because it was the best way to acquire a child. And there had been a time, before the sacking of Kaer Morhen, when witchers had needed “volunteer” children.

Geralt’s teeth ground against each other and slammed his fist against the wall. He had been one such volunteer.

He didn’t  _ want _ to make this child another one. But he was supposed to. Witchers were dying out – didn’t he have a responsibility to bring this child to Kaer Morhen? But even without the mutations, this child deserved a better life than that of a Witcher. For fuck’s sake, they would be royalty. The life they could have here was so far beyond anything Geralt could offer. Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if he just...left? Let the poor kid have the life they  _ should,  _ rather than the bleak future Geralt represented.

Mind made up, Geralt would have left right then, except he appeared to be lost somewhere deep in the Cintran castle, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to get out. He hadn’t been paying enough attention to be able to retrace his steps. The smart thing probably would have been to stay still and let someone find him, but he was Geralt, and he was never going to  _ choose _ to be helpless.

Which is why he was striding towards the corridor when someone ran around the corner and rammed directly into him.

“Oh, Geralt, there you are,” Jaskier said, looking down at Geralt from where he was sprawled over the witcher.

Geralt just growled.

“It was so rude of you to leave like that!” Jaskier huffed, shifting around until he was straddling Geralt’s hips and looking down at him with a crossed arms and a disappointed face. “The Queen was ready to send guards after you! The only reason she didn’t is because that druid, Mousesack, vouched for you and apparently he’s got an in with the new king,” Jaskier continued, updating Geralt on the gossip of the evening as if they weren’t lying in the middle of a castle corridor.

Jaskier wouldn’t be able to pin him down if Geralt didn’t want him to, of course. But it was always easier to give in to Jaskier than to fight him and honestly? Geralt was surprisingly comfortable, given he was lying on the cold stone floor.

But then, he was always comfortable between Jaskier’s legs. That was one reason he spent a lot of time there.

Another was the worried shadow in Jaskier’s eyes, even as he tried to distract them both with trivial talk. Jaskier  _ cared _ about him and it made Geralt’s chest grow warm to see evidence of it.

Deciding to channel his frustration with the day’s events in another direction, Geralt slid his hands up Jaskier’s thighs and the bard’s chatter stuttered and cut off. He dragged Jaskier’s hips up to sit on his shoulders and nosed at the crease of Jaskier’s thigh until the bard unlaced himself. He was still soft, but Geralt enjoyed the weight of the cock on his tongue, enjoyed sucking at it in slow pulses until it slowly started to fill his mouth, forcing his lips gradually wider. 

Jaskier let him keep sucking, not moving except to brush his hands through Geralt’s hair. For the first time since that damned banquet, Geralt’s mind felt calm and he could feel his muscles relaxing.

So when Jaskier heard the footsteps approaching and tried to pull away, Geralt held him down. Jaskier hesitated, but seemed to decide that if Geralt was okay being found like this, then he was down with it. And Geralt  _ was _ okay with it. He’d heard the sound of someone coming towards them long before Jaskier had, but it was accompanied by the earthy scent of grass and peat moss that Geralt easily identified as Mousesack. He could have gotten up to greet his friend, of course, but really, sucking cock in the middle of a hallway was not the worst way Mousesack had ever found him.

Mousesack seemed to agree, as he let out a warm rumbling laugh when they came into view. “Well, looks like you found him,” the druid said to Jaskier.

“Ah, yeah,” Jaskier shifted in embarrassment, so Geralt sucked harder at his mouthful, hollowing his cheeks. “Fuck!” Jaskier thrust into the back of Geralt’s throat for a lovely moment before pulling away. “Um, we should probably–”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Mousesack said. Geralt’s medallion vibrated as Mousesack magicked up an armchair and seated himself primly where he had a good view of Jaskier driving his cock into Geralt’s mouth.

His medallion was apparently fortuitously positioned, because when it vibrated, Jaskier threw his head back with a gasp and pulled Geralt’s head back onto his cock. Geralt got lost for a while in the blankness that overtook his mind when someone he trusted was in control, just enjoying the slide of Jaskier over his tongue, the blunt pressure of the cockhead against his throat. He wasn’t anything but a hot, wet hole at the moment, and from the frantic roll of Jaskier’s hips, the bard was more than pleased with that.

But Mousesack’s deep voice penetrated the fog when he said, “come now, Geralt, I know you can do better than that. Give the bard a proper suck.”

From habits formed of years of submitting to Mousesack in the bedroom, Geralt found himself following the order immediately, closing his lips tight around Jaskier’s cock and sucking and licking at his mouthful. He could smell the sharp ginger tang of Mousesack’s precum and knew that the druid must be palming himself. Geralt shifted his hips, seeking friction, but touching himself would mean taking his hands off of Jaskier, and he was desperate, but not  _ that _ desperate yet.

“Ah, so good,” Jaskier moaned, eyes flicking from where his dick disappeared between Geralt’s lips to where Mousesack must have pulled himself out to make a show of his voyeurism. Geralt groaned, pulling at Jaskier’s ass to rock him further into his mouth. “I’m close.”

“Pull out and come over his face,” Mousesack directed, and in normal situations, Jaskier probably would’ve chafed against orders, but he too knew how much Geralt savoured being marked by his partners. He loved the sense of possessive ownership that came with it – the sense that someone cared enough and wanted him enough to mark him as theirs. It made him shudder, his hips jerking against the air as he came in his trousers the moment Jaskier’s warm cum spattered across his face. Jaskier directed the head of his cock to paint over Geralt’s cheeks before settling on his bottom lip to let Geralt suckle at him through the last few trembles.

Geralt eagerly cleaned Jaskier’s cock, floating in an orgasmic haze where he was  _ wanted _ . When he heard the stutter in Mousesack’s breathing that meant he was close, Geralt released one hand from his grip on Jaskier’s thigh and reached above his head to tug on Mousesack’s ankle. Mousesack huffed an amused breath, and a moment later, his released splashed over Geralt’s face, dripping up into his hair. Geralt hummed contentedly, licking at his lips to chase the taste of each of them. 

Jaskier’s lute-callused fingertips dragged over the mess on his cheek and then pushed into his mouth. Geralt obediently swallowed, eyes closed and laying supine against the stone. Each new taste of his partners kept Geralt floating in that lovely space submitting to his partners brought him and he whined in disappointment when the last of the cum was cleaned from his face.

When Geralt opened his eyes, he found bright blue and warm brown eyes gazing down at him with such affection that it made him feel surrounded and protected. He cleared his throat and said in a hoarse rasp, “Guess you two have met now.” 

His two friends burst into laughter, Jaskier’s high dulcet blending perfectly with Mousesack’s deeper rumble. 

“We have indeed,” Mousesack said, flicking his fingers to clean the three of them. 

Jaskier startled as he felt the magic work, scouring sweat from his skin with a quick breeze. “Handy,” he said, rising to his feet and putting his clothes back to rights. “I vote we go find a bed and sleep.”

“Agreed.” Geralt mourned the loss of Jaskier’s weight, but pulled himself to his feet with a hand of assistance from each of them. One more flick of Mousesack’s fingers and it was as if they’d never been here, never had sex in the middle of the corridor.

“I believe my chambers are closest, if you’re amenable?” Mousesack’s cocked eyebrow was entirely aimed at Jaskier. Geralt had never been to Cintra’s castle before, but he’d slept with Mousesack plenty enough times for the druid to know his answer was always ‘yes’.

“Lead on,” Jaskier bowed with a flourish and extended his hand to indicate that Mousesack should precede him down the corridor. Then laughed when Mousesack started off in the exact opposite direction. He wrapped an arm around Geralt’s waist and guided him after the druid, still chuckling to himself.

Jaskier always did get giggly after sex. Personally, Geralt just got sleepy, so he was moving entirely on autopilot, letting Jaskier lead him. He wasn’t sure how long the walk was – or where he had been, for that matter – but next thing he was aware of was Mousesack opening the wooden door to the sight of a large four poster bed.

“Wow,” Jaskier said as he let go of Geralt to pull off his boots. “You definitely got nicer rooms than we did.”

Geralt didn’t bother to remove his shoes, just shucked the too-tight doublet and walked forward to faceplant on the incredibly comfortable bed. Jaskier tsked at him – the first time Geralt had ever done that, Jaskier had positively thrown a fit over getting his dirty shoes on the clean bed – but he pulled Geralt’s boots off for him.

There was the sound of cloth against cloth and movement around the room before a strong arm wrapped around Geralt’s chest and pulled him higher up onto the bed, the bedcovers magically moving from underneath him to on top of him. Jaskier snuggled in behind him and Geralt resigned himself to being cuddled between the two men.

It wasn’t actually a hardship, but everyone expected Geralt’s grumbling anyway. He sighed, totally safe in Mousesack and Jaskier’s arms.


End file.
